


please kill me instead

by gabriphales



Series: gomens drabble hell [6]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Blackmail, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, and somewhat described, aziraphale has like 500 mental illnesses just like me, gabriel is VERY bad at comforting ppl, heavily implied for that matter, miracled comfort??? gabriel sir u are a mess with ur techniques, this is heavily inspired by kotoko utsugi fun fact i love dr, unspecified demons are absolute shitheads
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:41:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23178631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gabriphales/pseuds/gabriphales
Summary: aziraphale's tired. very, very tired.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Gabriel (Good Omens)
Series: gomens drabble hell [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1664713
Comments: 3
Kudos: 41





	please kill me instead

**Author's Note:**

> aka the fic where i imply theres incredibly bad demons in hell (to no ones surprise, admittedly)

“aziraphale,  _ aziraphale, _ ” there’s a clicking sound that fills the air, leaves aziraphale’s ears ringing. it’s gabriel, snapping his fingers. nearly two inches away from his face, too close, too close. and yet, at the same time, too far away. aziraphale’s throat tightens, his lungs threaten to collapse. there’s no way to breathe like this, no way to fulfill the instinctual want his body demands, despite how little he actually, properly needs it.

his jaw clenches, teeth grinding together, molars on the verge of self-annihilation. and his scalp starts to burn, a hot, stinging, prickly pain. he realizes he’s tugging at his own hair, ripping clumps straight from their roots. something trickles down to the back of his neck. he’s bleeding, bleeding, bleeding. and he feels red all over. tainted, filthy, unworthy of even being here, standing next to gabriel, soaking in his presence.

his knees buckle, legs giving out. the ground’s too cold against his overheated skin. gravel digs into his palms as he tries to break his fall. it hurts too much. it doesn’t hurt enough.

“aziraphale, please, listen to me.” gabriel doesn’t sound happy. aziraphale knows he’s disappointing him, he must be, he  _ must _ be. because that’s all he ever does, that’s all he’s ever done. he’s been a failure since the fucking beginning. couldn’t even keep the humans away from the first temptation. he couldn’t stop crowley, couldn’t stop eve, couldn’t stop, couldn’t stop, couldn’t  _ stop-- _

just like he couldn’t stop  _ them. _

it was his own fault, really. it’s always his fault, it always  _ will _ be his fault. if he hadn’t done it, he would’ve put crowley in more danger than he already is. they know about the arrangement--or, at the very least, the rough outskirts of it. they would’ve gone back to hell, told his superiors, gotten him hurt, gotten him punished, gotten him  _ killed. _

he had to do it. he had to do it for crowley. a virtuous sacrifice, self-made martyrdom in order to atone for all the trouble he’s wreaked upon crowley. all the things he’s let him get away with.

and it’s not like they were absolutely vicious with him. they could’ve done so many terrible things, could have taken anything they wanted, ripped it from hands too scared to close them out. they promised to be gentle, they  _ tried _ to be gentle--really, they must have, it’s not their fault, it’s not their fault, it’s in their  _ nature-- _

crowley wouldn’t do that to him, but he’s different. and it’s not like if he did aziraphale wouldn’t deserve it.

there’s arms wrapping around him. tight, overbearing, suffocating as they pull his head into gabriel’s chest. his airway constricts, and he can’t breathe for a moment, he can’t breathe, can’t breathe at all--

but then gabriel’s hands are in his hair, and his head doesn’t hurt anymore. his tense, frozen muscles go limp. body entirely passive in gabriel’s grip. the realization that he’s just been miracled into relaxation doesn’t perturb him as much as it probably should. he’s calming down now, his blurry vision starts to clear, and he can see, he can breathe, he can  _ move _ again. he’s not scared anymore of being hurt for trying to bolt, trying to run, trying to  _ get away. _

gabriel rocks him, a gentle sway back and forth. like that of a parent cradling their child, hushing them into quiet contentment. the dried blood itching his skin disappears, and his fingers don’t seem to be shaking quite so harshly as they were before. he settles further into gabriel’s coddling, arms slung around his neck, and nestling himself as far as he could get inside his overcoat. gabriel notices quickly. he tucks his coat around aziraphale, sheltering, protective. it’s too cautious a movement to bear, too careful, and aziraphale can’t process the concept that anyone would want to be careful with him again. he’s too dirty for careful. too rotten for grace.

yet, as he cries against gabriel--disgusting, open-mouthed sobs--hiccuping and sniveling pathetically, he doesn’t push him away. not even as his tears and spit and  _ goodness knows _ what else stain the pure white fabric of his dress shirt. a nauseating guilt rolls up from aziraphale’s stomach and into his mouth, tasting vile. he knows how attentive gabriel is to his clothes. he’s immaculate, always has been, always will be. and aziraphale’s messing that up, he’s getting him filthy, he’s spreading the rot he can’t run away from. he’s a plague, a disease, a fucking worthless  _ fuckup-- _

gabriel holds him tighter. his hands cup over aziraphale’s shoulder blades, and he can feel him, he can feel him soothing over the place where his wings might have been, were they on display. something foggy and warm washes over his mind. the weight of his eyelids seem impossibly overwhelming, and aziraphale just can’t keep them open, can’t even try. his crying softens to stifled, quiet whimpers. and then to unsteady, clawed-at breaths of air. gulping down all the oxygen he couldn’t reach before.

his thoughts melt into a buzzing, molasses-thick incoherency. he can taste honey in his mouth, on his lips, can feel something like downy all across his body, like slumping into the most wonderfully inviting mattress of his lifetime. and gabriel keeps shushing him all the while. volume steadily decreasing as aziraphale’s vision fades to a pleasant, glowing amber.

somehow, over the hum of his own static, he can hear gabriel speaking, too. and it’s the gentlest tone he’s ever heard him use--so gentle, so  _ gentle _ \--but it doesn’t feel bad, he isn’t scared of this gentle. he isn’t sure if he even has the capacity to experience fear in a state like this.

“you will go to sleep now,” gabriel murmurs to him, voice soft as a psalm. “and dream of whatever you like best.”

and aziraphale, ever eager to please, does exactly as is asked of him.


End file.
